


For What It's Worth

by gwenweybourne



Category: Classic Rock RPF, Music RPF
Genre: Buffalo Springfield - Freeform, CSNY, Drinking, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Meet-Cute, Smoking, classic rock rpf - Freeform, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: One evening in the spring of 1965, Stephen Stills and Neil Young meet for the first time in a coffeehouse in northern Ontario, Canada. They're both desperate to impress each other even if they don't think they'll ever meet again.
Relationships: Stephen Stills & Neil Young
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	For What It's Worth

**Author's Note:**

> I went down a rabbit hole reading about how Stills and Young met and it's just a very cute story. Considering how deeply they would be come associated with the "California sound," that they met in Fort William (now called Thunder Bay). I'm Canadian, so this is also something near to my heart. I also wanted to write about Neil and his beloved car.
> 
> "We had a great time running around in Neil’s hearse and drinking good, strong Canadian beer and being young and having a good time." -- Stephen Stills

_Fort William (Thunder Bay), Ontario, Canada, April 1965_

The other band on the bill was late arriving. But at least they arrived. Stephen Stills was part of a folk group from Greenwich Village in New York City — The Company — who were trying to stretch out their first set a little longer to buy time for the Squires, a group who were traveling up from Winnipeg.

Fort William. Winnipeg. Stephen had never been to Canada before and now was on this bizarre six-week tour of small cities in cold places he’d never heard of with names he sometimes couldn’t pronounce. But it had been pretty fun so far, and the audiences were receptive. The beer was awfully good.

They finished their set and the Squires hustled up on stage to set up. Stephen found himself looking at one of the members of the group: a tall, lanky guy who was hefting a huge Gretsch guitar out of his case. _That guitar means business … what’s he gonna do with that thing?_

And Stephen’s eyes stayed fixed on the guitar player as the band started up and he started mixing up folk and rock music in just the way Stephen was wanting to do. He had a weird singing voice, but man, could he play guitar! Stephen was both impressed and desperately jealous.

At the end of the set, the guitar player introduced the band, ending with him. “I’m Neil Young, on guitar. We’re the Squires, come up from Winnipeg.”

Stephen gave them a hearty round of applause, but then it was time to get back up for their second set. He hoped that Neil would stick around because there was something about the way that guy played. His reedy high voice and heavy guitar playing. The taboo mixing of folk and rock sounds. It was something Stephen had been thinking about a lot. A thread he was chasing after, even if he wasn’t quite sure what it looked like yet.

* * *

At the end of their set, Stephen was nearly finished packing up his gear when he heard that same reedy voice from earlier. “Hey, man, that was a really groovy set. You wanna beer? I’m Neil.”

Stephen looked up and Neil Young nodded and offered a shy smile before holding out the cold bottle of beer that was a universal “hey, let’s be pals” gesture between men and particularly musicians.

* * *

The two bands sat together and chit-chatted for a little while, but then it was closing time. Neil looked at Stephen. “Hey, Steve … I’m pretty beat from the drive. But, uh, you wanna hang out tomorrow afternoon?”

“Like … after we wake up,” said Stephen with a smirk.

Neil laughed. “Yeah, man. Unless you got a heavy appointment first thing in the morning?”

“Oh, hell no,” said Stephen. “Hey … where you guys crashing?”

“Some place called the Dinty Motor Inn,” said Neil, grimacing. “Sounds like a dump. But we can crash for free if we play these gigs.”

“It does and it _is_ ,” said Stephen, laughing. “We’re staying there, too. It’s a shithole.”

Neil shrugged with a smile. “That’s all right, man. Won’t be the first shithole I ever crashed in. See you tomorrow? Say, around two o’clock?”

“Right on.”

“Bring your guitar.”

* * *

The next day, at the appointed time, Stephen came out of the room he was crammed into with his group and there was Neil, casually smoking a cigarette while leaning up against a huge, old black car. Stephen blinked and raised a hand in greeting as he approached Neil.

Neil nodded in response, expelling a plume of smoke, before his mouth quirked into a wry smile. “So … whaddya think?”

“That’s … it’s a hearse, man!” Stephen said, chuckling, confused.

“Uh-huh. This is Mort.” Neil looked back at the car. “Mort, this is Steve.”

“You named your car Mort.”

“Yeah!” said Neil, taking another drag, grinning. “You get it?”

“Huh?”

“Mort, man! You get it?”

“Is this a Canadian thing? I’m just a rube from down south, man.”

Neil shook his head with a sigh and Stephen felt inexplicably embarrassed by disappointing this weird cat he’d only just met. But for some reason he really needed Neil to think he was cool. 

“Mort,” Neil said, finally. “It’s French for ‘death.’ _Mort_. Or short for ‘mortuary.’” He raised his eyebrows and smiled at Stephen.

Stephen stared at Neil for a long moment before understanding spread over his face and he laughed, his head falling back as he finally got it. “Holy shit, man … MORT!”

“Mort!” Neil exclaimed with a grin, then fished for his keys in his pocket. “His full name is Mortimer Hearseburg, but we don’t stand on ceremony here, dig? C’mon, man, let’s go for a spin. Since I only just got into town last night. Let’s go look around.” He reached out to take Stephen’s guitar case from him and put it in the back of the hearse. Stephen hoped it wasn’t some kind of strange symbol of the death of his music career before it had even gotten off the ground.

Stephen opened the passenger door to the giant hearse and slipped inside, still both fascinated and somewhat perturbed by Neil’s vehicle of choice.

“Whaddya think they do for fun around here?” Stephen remarked as they pulled away.

“Same as anywhere else, I’d imagine,” said Neil. “Play music. Talk to girls. Drink some beer. Smoke some smoke. I’m from Winnipeg, which is a bigger city. But me and the guys are gonna try to hack it here for a bit. Smaller pond, dig?” Neil paused for a moment, then looked sidelong at Stephen. “You hungry?”

Stephen shrugged. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“… you got any money?”

Stephen laughed. He liked Neil’s directness. “Yeah, man. Not a lot, but I got some. I can cover us.”

“They got this local specialty here. Everyone back in the Peg said I gotta try it. It’s called a Persian.”

“A Persian?” Stephen repeated.

“Yeah, man. It’s apparently like a donut, but it ain’t got no hole. And pink frosting. I don’t know what the big deal is, but people back home wouldn’t shut up about it. Whaddya say?” Neil didn’t want to admit to this cool New York cat with the southern accent that all the money he’d had was gone on gas getting up to the gig and that they’d be dining on Spam and Ritz Crackers from the liquor store that night. He didn’t know any American musicians and didn’t want to blow this opportunity to make a good connection. Maybe even a friend.

“Yeah, all right. I can dig that. Then we’ll jam? I got some questions about a few riffs … maybe a lot of questions.”

“It’s why I’m here,” said Neil simply. “Dug your sound, too. I think we’re both skirting around the edges of something. Maybe we can start to figure out what it is.”

Stephen lit a cigarette and smiled. Yeah. That sounded really cool. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but this felt like a significant moment. Even if he’d probably never see Neil again after this. What were the odds, after all? Stephen needed to get back to New York. Though California was starting to look pretty good. He was happy to make the bread on this tour and to meet this new friend, but Neil seemed determined to stick it out in Fort William and Stephen had other places to be.

* * *

Neil and Stephen hung out every day that week until it was time for The Company to move on. Stephen gave Neil his address in New York, just in case. For what it was worth.

**Author's Note:**

> I've only been to Thunder Bay once, but the love for Persian rolls is real and serious and people travel there and bring them back like exotic prizes from afar. I read that the Persian roll has been popular since the early 1940s, so it's conceivable that they went out to try them.
> 
> Mort the hearse "died" before Neil moved to L.A., but when he made up his mind to go, he bought a second hearse, Mort II, and drove that out there, hoping to find Stephen. One day, Neil and Mort were going one direction down Sunset and Stephen was driving his van in the opposite direction. He recognized Neil and the hearse and they pulled over and caught up and Buffalo Springfield was born.


End file.
